Exodus 16:1-3, 9-14
Rev. Dr Deborah L Clark
October 17, 2021
Those Israelites love to complain. They complain when Moses’ effort to free them from slavery instead leads Pharaoh to make their work harder. They complain when they find themselves trapped between a stormy sea and an advancing army. They complain when they can’t find any water in the desert. They complain when they fear they are going to starve to death. Whine, whine, whine….
It’s tempting to read the book of Exodus with a judgmental, or at least annoyed, attitude toward the Israelite’s complaining. Today I invite you to hear this story with compassion for the Israelite people—and to hear in this story God’s compassion for them. Maybe, heard in a new way, this story can help us be compassionate with ourselves and with each other as we wander and wonder in today’s wilderness. Maybe it can help us trust that God is compassionate with us.
Among the judgments we make about the Israelites is that their complaining is a sign of their lack of faith. I wonder if it’s actually the opposite—a sign of their faith in God, for they are reaching out for help. Perhaps we might honor their complaining as an act of courage—courage to trust that they are not alone, courage to trust that God is listening. Their complaint is a form of prayer, a beginning of a conversation with God. Holy complaining.
As they complain, they express their longing for the way things used to be—their narrow vision of the lamb stew they were accustomed to having for breakfast in Egypt. God listens deeper than their words to hear their fear and their exhaustion, to hear their pain-filled acknowledgement that they cannot do it themselves. God knows it isn’t really about the stew. God responds—not to the complaint but to what is behind it.
The response is not what the people are expecting. There is no lamb stew. Instead, there is this white flaky substance on the ground. They don’t even recognize it as food. In fact, the word “manna” comes from the Hebrew “man hu”—”what is it?” They ask Moses. Something—perhaps divine inspiration—enables Moses to break away from that narrow picture of breakfast to broaden his vision of what food might look like. I wonder if he steps away to taste it before he answers. “It is the bread God has given you to eat.” When they dare cry out to God, God surprises them with sustenance they could never have imagined.
Miracle stories in the Bible raise all sorts of questions about how God works. Does God make manna appear out of nowhere, breaking all the laws of nature in response to the people’s complaint? Or does God open the eyes of the Israelite people to something that was already there, something they had passed over, even stomped upon, many mornings without even wondering if it could be food? Maybe the miracle is the opening of their eyes and their hearts to a blessing that was already given to them. Maybe the miracle is that their courage to complain begins a conversation with God that awakens them to the sustenance they need.
I invite you to think about the complaints your lips have uttered during the wilderness journey of these last twenty months—or maybe the complaints welling up in your heart that have never made it to your lips. Complaints, perhaps, about loss and isolation and exhaustion. Complaints about not feeling a sense of control in our lives. Complaints about injustice, about fire and flood and the destruction of our planet. Complaints about other people’s choices that impact our lives. Complaints about the amount of complaining we are all doing.
Whatever your complaints have been—whatever they are–, I invite you to acknowledge their potential to be holy—complaints that start a conversation with God, complaints that open a way for God to surprise you, to sustain you, to bless you. Dare to trust that God is listening to your complaints with compassion. God is listening beneath your words to hear your deepest longings and needs.
Part of what makes a complaint holy—what turns a complaint into a prayer– is a decision to pause from our ranting long enough to listen. What we hear might be insight that comes from some holy place deep within. Or a different perspective gently offered by a friend. Or simply the beauty of a bird’s song, a moment’s break from our distress. God yearns to turn our complaint into a conversation, to guide us to deeper understanding of ourselves, to draw us beyond our narrow vision of what we think should be. God promises to surprise us—with sustenance in a form we never envisioned.
I invite you to think about your complaints—and how they might be made holy. I also invite you to think about how and when you have already tasted manna in this modern-day wilderness. When have you been surprised by sweetness amidst the bitterness of pandemic and injustice? What unexpected gifts have sustained you when you thought you couldn’t keep going?
May the memory of that sweetness deepen your trust that God will surprise you with new, even more wondrous sources of sustenance.
Amen.
I invite you to join me in a litany of confession.
Your response: Awaken us to manna.
Oh God, we confess our complaints. We are frustrated. We want to sing, indoors, shoulder to shoulder. We want to throw away our masks. We want to be able to plan our lives. We want an end to gridlock, an end to the hate speech, an end to injustice. Amidst our complaining, O God, awaken us to manna.
O God, we confess what is behind our complaints: our yearning for connection; our desire to make a difference; our hope for dignity for all your beloved. As we acknowledge our deeper needs, O God, awaken us to manna.
O God, we confess that our vision is narrow. We have our set ideas of how things should be. We pray you will broaden our vision, so we might see the gifts you have given us. O God, awaken us to manna. Amen.
Assurance of God’s forgiveness
Holy Calling
Exodus 16:16-32
This gift from God just keeps getting more amazing. Manna provided life-giving sustenance. It also created an egalitarian society. Each household did their best; everyone ended up with exactly what they needed. No one could accumulate the precious resource; it spoiled when they tried to hoard it. There was even a built-in mechanism to ensure just working conditions: no one could be coerced to gather manna on the Sabbath; there was nothing to gather.
The Israelite people had been slaves in Egypt for generations. All they knew was a society based on power-over: where people with wealth and status used their power to accumulate more, denying dignity and hope to the rest. The wandering Israelites needed manna for sustenance; even more, they needed manna to teach them a different way of living. Even as they kept trying to hoard a little extra, even as they struggled to trust there would be enough, they were learning that it is possible to create a just and compassionate society. They were learning God’s vision of how they should treat one another.
By the time this story was written down, centuries later, the people had long left the wilderness. No longer dependent on manna, they raised livestock and grew crops. Some began to accumulate wealth. Prophets emerged, railing against extremes of wealth and poverty. I imagine this story was written down as a much-needed reminder that God calls God’s people to create just, equitable, and compassionate societies.
On our journey through the wilderness of these strange times, we need this story of manna. We need it to remind ourselves that God will surprise us with sustenance. We need it to remember God’s vision for human society—where there is enough for everyone, where each person’s contribution is valued, where work and rest find a holy balance.
Just as it was a vision at odds with the only picture of society the Israelites knew, so God’s manna-based vision it at odds with what we see around us today. We need this vision, to assure us that another way is possible. We need this vision to inspire us to keep trying to work for change—in our personal relationships, in the communities we create, in the public policies we advocate. The promise of the story is that, as we work and struggle for a just and compassionate world, God will bless us with the sustenance we need.
May we say yes to this holy calling. Amen.